


Thank You Mummy Dearest

by darlingmisslovette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Sherlock deduces, Sherlock's POV, Young Sherlock, interesting found object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingmisslovette/pseuds/darlingmisslovette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Sherlock deduces about a little present from Mummy.</p><p>Just a quick one-shot. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You Mummy Dearest

"Forged stainless steel, in Japan," she reads off of it, holding it out to me like she would a lollipop to Mycroft. It takes me all of two seconds to pounce on it, chemistry textbook abandoned roughly on my bedroom floor amid a sea of broken pencils and fluttering sheets of notebook paper. It's not shiny; dull, old, well-used. I hold the little spoon carefully, as if I might break it, but I know I couldn't even if I tried. The handle is made to look like something it's not, covered in mottled shades of brown; supposed to look like marble? porcelain? actually made of wood. Slightly absorbent: still dark at the base of the handle where Mummy hasn't dried it completely (she washed it?!). Tiny miniscule hair of a crack at the base of the handle, running along the length; wood splitting after being left wet for long periods of time, on multiple (frequent? regular?) occasions. Flip it over; the rest of the spoon is indeed stainless steel. Stamp on the backside of the widest part: FORGED STAINLESS JAPAN. Not sure how old, need to research.  
Sniff... been washed. No soap. Smells like nothing. Can smell fresh linen sheets on my hands (been lounging on my bed, sheets changed last night).  
She found it under the passenger's seat of her car, but it's not hers. From the previous owner. Pity it's been cleaned, so much I could have learned...  
"You've washed it." It is not a question. It is not gratitude.  
"Thank you, Mummy dearest," she sings as she retreats back to the kitchen (still washing dishes).  
"Thank you Mummy dearest," I parrot back unconsciously. I have already turned back to my room; open second drawer of my desk; add it to my collection of found objects. Small things, things that expose people, reveal their true selves. Someday I'll be an expert. Mummy says so. She's usually right.


End file.
